


You'll Forever Be The Reason I Lost My Smile

by 1000trillionpercent



Series: Amen [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Mind Games, Nephilim Armie, Past Relationship(s), Shapeshifting, Succubus Timothée
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000trillionpercent/pseuds/1000trillionpercent
Summary: It’s Timothée'sjobto be intoxicating, addictive, irresistible, and so much more. Armie is fully knowledgeable of this. But awareness doesn’t grant him freedom from the influence. He buys into the facade, the sweetness, the coy personality, the external innocence. He knows Timothée acts exactly this way specifically for Armie. That Timothée knows what Armie needs, what he desires, things he’d never speak to a regular human Timothée already knew before they traded names. Perhaps that’s part of the reason he falls for it so willingly.He can’t go back to his veiled normalcy, they both know that.When opportunity hands you a fundamentally intellectually, physically, and sexually perfect partner, well, who would go back tohumans?Regardless of the unique hangups Timothée brings with him, Armie can stomach most of it.





	You'll Forever Be The Reason I Lost My Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This specific fic idea was the birthing ground of this entire AU, and I'm glad to finally get this out of my system and onto a document 
> 
> This is your quarterly reminder that this Timmy is not a good person in this stage of the AU.

“Harder.” Timothée whispers, his tone breathless.

  
Armie's fingers dig into bony hips as he’s gripping and pulling Timothée down into each thrust, savoring how Timothée's head tips back and a shaky exhale leaves his lungs. Armie's eyes rake up Timothée's form; taking in the straining cock bobbing idly between their bodies, the flush of soft red across his chest and the way his ribs flutter with each soft moan and pant of breath, the beautiful soft expanse of smooth skin that makes up his neck, the scattered bruises visible on them from earlier moments like these, only there because Armie wants them to be. He’s gorgeous, and Armie feels an intermixed desire to rip him apart piece by piece, and to protect him from the world.

  
Always reading his mind, always knowing exactly what he wants, Timothée's slim fingers circle around Armie's wrist and gently guide his hand up until he’s pressing Armie's thenar against his throat. Armie doesn’t hesitate to push his index finger and thumb into the spot beneath Timothée's jaw, squeezing intently on the fragile exposed arteries as if it does _anything_. He feels, more than hears, the next moan that leaves Timothée, no doubt getting hit with the force of Armie's’s ever-growing arousal.

  
Armie's fingers dig in harder, and he feels Timothée's thighs shake as he makes a desperate, choked noise. Gorgeous. Armie’s free hand moves to stroke Timothée's length, and Timothée takes over rocking his hips on Armie's cock, careful not to disturb Armie's grip on his neck.

  
Armie puts all his strength possible in the hand around Timothée's neck, watches Timothée's cheeks face flush red, and then the faintest hint of purple. Once Timothée's lips show signs of discoloration, Armie falls apart. Timothée is seconds behind him, painting Armie's chest with his cum and rocking his hips slowly as Armie hisses through the post-release sensitivity. Armie's hands fall to his sides as he pants, looking up at the beautiful figure above him.

  
Timothée's hands skate up Armie's stomach, chest, and hook around his shoulders. He leans down, pressing kisses to Armie's collarbone, shoulder, the crook of his neck, peppering up his jugular and jaw until his mouth his level with Armie's ear. Armie’s body is buzzing, blissed out to a level that only comes from Timothée's influence. It’s a state he wants to stay in his entire life, despite the underlying weakness and sparks of pain it brings his body if visited too often.

  
“Again.” Timothée purrs, blunt nails digging into Armie's skin and scratching gently.

  
“You’re hungry today.” Armie pants, running a hand through his hair before sitting up and flipping their positions. “Four isn’t enough?”

  
He looks delicious underneath Armie’s frame. So small, so fragile looking, it makes the feral part of Armie’s brain scream to corrupt something that is already unholy. To ruin him for anyone else, just as Timothée has done to him.

  
Timothée hums underneath him, hands stretching out on the bed idly. He’s outwardly unaffected by the tease, and his post-orgasm rush has died down. Armie’s pride is doing little more than annoying him when the angel is running his mouth instead of giving him what he wants. “Is this an issue with my appetite or your ability to satisfy me?” His eyes meet Armie's, and both hands raise to cradle Armie's face, “I mean, which of us couldn't even keep a _human_  pleased?” His tone is dark, and Armie doesn’t realize he’s gritting his teeth in anger until he feels the pain. There’s a hint of a smile on Timothée's lips, but his expression is otherwise composed.

  
It makes Armie's vision red.

  
Armie pulls Timothée's hands from his face, pins them above the demon’s head with one hand, the other circling around Timothée's throat, palm pressing to his windpipe in addition to the precise placement of his fingers. He fucks into Timothée hard, but there’s no passion to it, and barely any enjoyment. Armie knows this is near torture for Timothée because he gets nothing from this if Armie isn’t enjoying himself, and he almost feels satisfaction in that alone.

  
“What's the matter, my love?” Timothée's voice is sweet and more notably complete unaffected by the chokehold that would, at the very least, have brought a human to unconsciousness by now, “Did I strike a nerve?”

  
“Shut. Up.” Armie punctuates each word with a thrust, but he doesn’t see Timothée's expression darken.

  
As the old adage goes: It takes two to tango.

  
Timothée's fingers twitch, and his wrists twist in Armie's grip, “Can you at least let my wrists go?” His voice is higher, “This is really uncomfortable.”

  
Armie's vision is focused on the headboard just above Timothée's hands as his pace settles on slow, deep thrusts, savoring the tight heat of Timothée's body. He’s full of shit, and Armie knows it, Timothée is probably stronger than he is when push comes to shove. He’s just trying to get in Armie’s head. And Armie won’t make it easy.

  
“You're hurting me” he feels Timothée's back arch below him as a wave of arousal hits him, but Armie still won’t look at him. At the very least, Timothée elicited the opposite reaction he was going for.

  
Timothée makes a mental note of Armie's apparent non-consensual fantasy kink for further exploration; he studies Armie's face before he’s decided that perhaps Armie needs to be taken down a peg.

  
So it’s natural he pulls out his favorite underutilized trick.

  
Her voice is panicked and broken “ _Armie-it hurts._ ”

  
Armie's movement halts immediately.

  
“ _You're hurting me._ ”

  
Timothée wiggles one hand from Armie's grip and places it over where Armie's is resting on his neck.

  
“ _Please stop!_ ”

  
The words are chanted over and over until Armie feels like his ears may bleed.

  
And then suddenly it's no more.

  
There's a series of coughs, gags, and despite that Armie has stopped moving one of her hands is still digging its nails into the hand that's loosely gripping her neck.

  
When the first mouthful of blood is coughed up onto his chest, her chin, her cheek, all bright red and reeking of metal, Armie felt paralyzed. He watched in horror as her body convulses, struggles to speak his name through the liquid pouring from her mouth. He could hear her heart pounding against her ribcage and did little more than watch on in abject horror as her body writhes and convulses.

  
Her movements slowly die down in intensity until shes entirely still. No rise and fall of her chest, no sound of her heartbeat. No pulse. His hand burns with pain from where her nails dug in so hard it drew blood.

  
Armie looks away and tries to compose himself.

  
There's a soft, mischievous snickering below him, and when he looks back down, she's gone. Her figure is replaced by a younger, more masculine frame, and it looks up at him with an expression of pure mirth and condescension.

  
“You should have seen your face! Did you forget where you were?”

  
“Timmy, this isn't funny, I don't-”

  
And it's her voice again, “ _Don’t be like that, Husband._ ” He feels Timothée's, no, _her_  hands sliding under his arms to his back and gently coaxing him back down against her chest. Timothée's voice comes back, “I just wanted to have a little fun,”

  
Armie's paled considerably from the emotional turmoil he's been subjected to, and he’s struggling to process the form under him, and it’s constant switching between Timothée, and what Elizabeth looked like the last time he saw her.

  
It takes several seconds to compose himself enough to do so, but Armie pulls back wholly, sitting on the edge of the bed for a while as he scrubs one hand over his face and tries to think. Timothée watches, a satisfied smirk on full display, nudging Armie's thigh gently with his foot. He’s still presenting as her, and he’s confident he can see Armie's hands shaking at this point.

  
“I think… I think I need a shower.” Armie says softly, not even looking up at Timothée as he stands and exits the room.

  
“ _Don’t keep me waiting too long,_ ” Timothée says in her voice, and he can hear Armie's shaky inhale from the other room.

**Author's Note:**

> please for the love of god leave me comments


End file.
